


cat's out of the bag

by spiritedwhere



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Funny, Marichat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritedwhere/pseuds/spiritedwhere
Summary: in which marinette really needs to get a lock for her room.





	cat's out of the bag

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi this is based on this tumblr post i made and it's somewhat lengthy for literally just a shitpost

Marinette won’t deny she’s gotten more reckless as the years passed, and her relationship with Chat Noir developed from two teens sneaking around kisses to two young adults on the verge of _something_.

She can’t pretend that once she let Chat Noir stay in her room for longer than an hour, they couldn’t stop their feelings getting the better of their logic. And she _most definitely_ can’t ignore how hard they’ve tried to stretch the time until he’s forced to leave before detransforming, each of their rendezvouses ending with Chat Noir on his last lifeline, barely jumping off of her balcony before she hears the super-suit come off and a string of curse words come out when he crash-lands.

Not to mention, a lack of concentration when an Akuma attacks the next day. Both Ladybug and Chat Noir find themselves lagging extremely so as they race after the villain, excuses for their tired behavior not ever quite good enough, but accepted from each other as a quick way to avoid talking about what really occupied their time the day before. Chat Noir hasn’t put two and two together over his girlfriend and masked partner being the same person yet, but Marinette likes to believe a small part of him plays dumb when she shows up with the same tired gaze that he has plastered on his face, and even more so when Marinette complains to Chat Noir on her own time about how her day had gone.

But still, even with the fatigue headaches and short sleeping time, when the days come that both of their schedules make them free long enough to reunite, and Marinette can feel his warm embrace and hear his heartbeat louder than ever before, it’s more than worth it. She still sticks by that statement even when it means she’ll be blurry eyed and nearly slipping down the ladder the next day on her way to class, or when Chat Noir tells her how once again he almost slipped off the Eiffel Tower in a weary daze because of their shameless activities (which Marinette defends wasn’t a direct cause from her, but more on his childish antics). No matter what, when their time comes and the day is free for their own choices and actions, Marinette can hardly sit still.

Today is one of those days. And even better, it’s earlier than most, the sun still shining in the sky.

Chat Noir is coming into her room with a quick kiss before he drops down on the bed, propping himself on her pillows and gazing around in awe, like she’s redecorated since the last time he’s shown up (seeing as it’s only been less than a week, she hasn’t). Marinette gets it though, understands why he gets just so when he enters her room. Chat Noir, even as ever elusive as he is, opened up to her once, told her about how much he enjoyed staying in her room. It kept him away from his controlling father and absent mother, from the pressures of his busy job out of the suit and the friends he always felt like he wasn’t there enough for. She wished she could hear more about his troubles, help him out and comfort him, but knew she would probably never get to figure out much behind the mask. There was a clear line drawn between the rules of the suit and the rules of their life, what their kwamis had always warned them to be wary of when sharing with someone, and even while Chat Noir chose to dance on top of that line, he knew he had to respect it when it came to some things, if not for his identity than for the sake and safety of his Ladybug’s.

Marinette knew that of course; it was she herself as Ladybug who had practically begun to enforce it, even more so once she met Master Fu, and learned more about the Miraculouses than she could have ever pictured before. There would always be things she couldn’t allow herself to learn about Chat Noir, and there were some things he wouldn’t be able to learn about her, not while she hid her identity from him. There was only one thing she knew though, that once he was here, his eyes never shined brighter, his smile was never wider when she surprised him with a box of treats, and his silly puns were always at their peak of awfulness.

“Please,” she’s practically begging him even while she lets out a laugh at his most current wave of corny, “I don’t want to hear anymore, not for the next hour at least.”

“An hour?” Chat Noir says, disbelief in his voice. “But Princess, I spent so long making all my jokes just sound so _purrfect_!”

“I will kick you out onto the balcony until your Miraculous wears off, I hope you know that.”

“At least let me sneak one more kiss before you subject me to that kind of torture!”

“No more kisses until your puns leave!” She’s firmly telling him, giggling when he leans over to not only engulf her in one of his hugs, but attack with a wave of kisses all over her face, grip strong enough to keep her there but not so much as to harm her. She lets him get away with it as long as he can, before she begins promising every form of revenge. He stops her halfway through her rant, however, when he catches her lips in a longer, more sweet kiss. Marinette stops it only because she’s caught smiling too much to properly kiss back, but leans in soon enough, arms wrapping around his neck.

Outside, the sun’s begun to set, and a large crowd of tourists have exited from the bakery below in one big wave of naïveté, dozens of plenty generous tips and mostly empty pans of pastries left in their path. She can hear the sounds of the dozens of people crowding the streets below her, along with her parent’s slapping down pans in what must be macarons being made. It’s plenty loud, louder than what she typically endures, but she doesn’t care much for it now, her laughs and playful taunts with her Chat Noir drowned out from any noisy ear or investigative reporter waiting for their big catch.

Marinette loves this, she realizes, when the crowds have disappeared and she hears her parents call out that they’ve gone to the market downtown for some findings. Her body is using Chat Noir as a pillow, the growth spurts he’s gotten over the years making him plenty broad and more than comfy for all her comfort needs. His arms are wrapped around her, and the light touch of his metal claws leave slight goosebumps on her arms whenever he lets them ghost up and down. When she glances up to make sure he hasn’t accidentally fallen asleep, she sees nothing more than green eyes gazing down at her face, seeming like they’ve been there since the beginning of time and won’t be leaving any time soon.

She loves this. She loves this, and not only this, but she loves _him_ , so strongly and deeply she’s sure it transcends dimensions, through every possible alternate universe and time period. She’s never felt this so strong and sure about someone before, and has no doubt in her that while she thinks, Chat Noir is matching her on every level, just as how he is when she’s fighting alongside him on the streets of Paris. 

“I think I’ll have to go soon,” he says, the window showing nothing but the last streaks of the sun. He’s long overstayed his welcome, both of them know that, and Marinette knows his kwami must be ready to release his hold on the Miraculous soon. Marinette knows Chat Noir won’t have much more time to safely leave and arrive back home, probably a half hour at most, but neither make any move to get up and say their goodbyes. They’ll see each other soon, most likely tomorrow if another Akuma attacks the city and drags the two out of the comfort of their beds, or if Chat Noir decides he wants to suavely impress her with a bouquet of her favorites flowers and those expensive candies he always manages to get his hands on (Marinette knows he would never steal, but seriously, she’s Googled the cost before and it’s baffling how much one can spend on candies and not end up eating dirt for every other meal). 

It’s Marinette who decides to get up first, pushing herself off the bed and away from his touch to get down onto the main floor. She’s digging in her drawers for a set of pajamas to wear for the night, knowing her boyfriend well enough to know he’ll eventually push himself upwards and kiss her goodnight, even if it’s with grumbles of “I don’t want to go home” and “It’s not even that late, why can’t we just cover my face with a sack and call it a night?” When she doesn’t hear him stir or make any attempts to move, she sighs and begins to undress, swinging her shirt over her head completely unbothered by his presence in her room. It’s not like Chat Noir hasn’t seen her in her bra before, several times accidentally coming in on all the wrong times (and a few occasions where it _more_ than all right) when she was spotted wearing much less and blushing much more.

“I want you out by the time I’m done changing, okay?” she’s more ordering than asking. Without turning around she can tell he isn’t even gazing in her direction by the sound of his hummed agreement, probably looking around for more snacks scattered on the bed to take home and pig out on. He knows as much as she do there’s no trying to hide the obvious, and she would rather spend a few useless minutes changing than have him leave so soon, even when they know it’s the more responsible route to take.

Marinette takes more time than she thought she could ever have taken, preferring to slowly take only her shirt, than her tank top, then her jeans, deciding after a half-second to take her socks off too, all right before she’s even thrown on one bit of her pajamas. She’s on the verge of deciding what to pull on first in an attempt to stall for a bit longer, only to be startled by the sudden thuds underneath her, the telltale sign of an approaching person. Chat Noir is sitting up on the bed, clearly surprised and totally clueless on what to do by the look on his face. Like an idiot, Marinette thinks, he goes and chooses to ignore the hatch leading outside and instead heads _down_ the bed to join her on the floor, trapping himself with her in her room with little time to spare. 

“Chat! You’re kidding, right?” she asks, motioning to his clear and easy exit right above them. He gives a sheepish smile and starts to head upwards, but Marinette knows he won’t make it in time. With hands pushing him with more force than she had wanted to use into a corner of the room Marinette knows isn’t visible to anyone approaching, she silently motions to her door leading to the closet. Chat Noir takes up the invite and swings it open, climbing in right as they hear the _swing_ of the hatch opening and softly closing the door once the bright bunch of hair pops up. 

Alya’s popping her head up, slapping the hatch leading to Marinette’s room down onto the floor. “Guess whooooo’s here?” she sings out, already pulling herself up off the ladder with her mind set on heading to Marinette’s bed. A few bags full of snacks she’s acquired before heading over dangles in one hand, with her phone in the other. For once, Alya’s turned off her ringer and decided to keep it a one-on-one event tonight with her best friend. A bit of a surprise, of course, but it’s not as if Marinette had anybody else willing to waste a school night with to entertain. 

Alya showed up with the intention to surprise her best friend, but instead, she’s witness to her friend’s nearly naked self before her, almost causing Alya to drop her bags in a slight wave of shock. Marinette’s standing in the middle of her room, clothes scattered on the ground and her undergarments surprisingly a nice set for a weekday. Alya’s seen Marinette wearing nothing but a half-sewed poncho before, and they’ve walked in on each other dozens of times before, but clearly, Alya knows this on a whole other level of crazy.

“Why are you naked?” she asks, ready to get the most obvious question out of the way. As she walks more into the room, Marinette looks more and more like she’s trying incredibly hard to hide something, and failing _miserably_.

“I… don’t have any clothes?” she offers, Marinette knowing how dumb and totally unbelievable her excuse is. She literally has half of her closet full of handmade stuff! And Alya knows this too, which is why she storms over to the closet, throwing it open and gesturing to the tons of objects she has strewn on hangers and dangling from the rack.  


“You have a ridiculous amount of clothes, Marinette!” Alya exclaims, ready to comb through and pick something her friend can pull on, and then something that the reporter can take home for herself. “I mean seriously Mari, it’s near close to a Hoarders episode in here! There’s this shirt, this sweater, hi Chat Noir, these pants, this- “

Marinette hears the quick intake of breath from her friend, more rustling of the hangers, and finally, the sound of her leather suited boyfriend stepping out onto her floor.

“Marinette, want to explain something?” Alya asks, pointedly throwing her best friend a gaze as out of everybody in Paris, Chat Noir stands right next to her. Marinette sees Chat Noir motioning towards his ring, probably on the verge of making an excuse about his suit almost wearing off before making a timely escape. Alya can feel every part of her ready to enter reporter mode, bust out the camera and ask the superhero dozens of questions in a _one-on-one, all exclusive interview_ , but would rather figure out _how_ and _why_ he’s in her best friend’s room first.

And more importantly, what is he doing in the room that currently contains her _unclothed best friend_.

“He… he was helping me figure out what to wear,” Marinette says finally.

Her best friend blinks, pushes her glasses upwards and gives Marinette a doubtful look. “Helping you figure out what to- ?”

“Yes,” Marinette affirms. “He was helping me out and had to go into the closet to find me an outfit and- “

“Marinette, it’s alright. You can say you were fucking Chat Noir.”

“I never said that!”

“It doesn’t take much to figure that out, Marinette.” Alya smiles, nudging the superhero next to her. She gives him a slight wink, and Adrien knows Alya is about to wring Marinette dry. He steps back, and noticing neither girl raise a finger, decides to bolt up the steps to the bed, leaving as quickly as he can, even if it does result in some overturned potted plants and maybe a sock or two stuck onto his suit.

“So Marinette,” Alya starts off, “I only have one question before I decide to pretend this didn’t happen, for the sake of our superhero’s reputation. One question and that is- “ She pauses dramatically for effect. “How does it feel to be fucking a furry?”

 Marinette would rather have her entire body pictured and plastered onto every news article in Paris than answer that. Or, even begin to really _think_ about that.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @mari-cheres!! i really enjoy talking to people about ships and fics and stuff there!


End file.
